nearly a daughter to me,” Edward’s mother said.
“Nearly isn’t blood. I pray you’ve no plans to stay here. We’ve little enough to eat as it is and too little money to buy more.”
Edward watched confusion reign on Isa’s face, but it lasted no more than a moment. She pulled a perfect shield of composure over her flawless face. Her hair was askew and she was dressed in peasant’s rags, but at that moment she was all Lassone: a wealthy heiress with her father’s distant ties to Belgian royalty.
“I have no intention of inconveniencing you,” she said. “At full light, I’ll go home.” She turned to Edward’s mother. “I hope you know you are welcome to come with me.”
Edward sighed at her proud announcement and spoke before his mother could reply. “How generous to offer your home. But do you know if you’re welcome there?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that half the big houses in Quartier Léopold have been billeted with German soldiers for two years now or converted to hospitals. Yours is probably one of them.”
“Oh . . . I hadn’t thought of that.” She looked his way again and her eyes flashed not with embarrassment but anger. He was used to her confidence—it came with money—but there was something new about that confidence, something . . . older. “I’m sure you believe I haven’t thought of a great many things. But I have. I shall see Brand Whitlock tomorrow—or today. He’ll set my papers in order, vouch for my residency, and have any Germans using my home removed for the length of my stay.”
Edward said nothing, only exchanged a glance with his mother. Have a few Germans removed?
And what did she mean, for the length of her stay? Did she think that border was some sort of open highway, back and forth between Belgium and freedom?
Little fool. He just hoped whatever fracas she started wouldn’t send too much attention their way.
4
Let us not forget the last proclamation of our beloved leader Burgomaster Max upon the arrival of our oppressors, to temporarily accept the sacrifices imposed upon us and patiently await the hour of reparation.
La Libre Belgique
* * *
Isa sat with a cup of steaming water in front of her. There was no tea, nor chocolate, nor coffee. She was told there was sometimes wild chicory to be had, but Genny said the taste was so awful they hardly pursued getting it. Pretending it was very weak tea, Isa sipped the hot water. The warmth felt good.
Viole and Albert had returned to their room, the door tightly shut. Isa knew they hoped she’d be gone once they emerged again, and she planned to do all she could to oblige.
She eyed her satchel on the table. Now was as good a time as any to show Edward and Genny what she’d brought. She reached inside for her flute and handed it to Edward.
“This is what you wanted to show me?”
“Oh, Isa, you brought your flute,” Genny said. “There is so little happiness around these days, I’m sure we’d all love to hear you play.”
“Not yet,” Edward said, balancing the center in his palm. “There’s something inside, isn’t there? That’s why you pretended you weren’t the owner when that German asked you to play?”
Isa took the flute and stuck her finger in the end but couldn’t reach what she sought.
“I think she needs a hairpin, Mother,” Edward said. “Or two.”
Genny went up the stairs, returning a moment later with a small silver box. Isa took out two pins, straightening and twisting them together. With caution and patience, she pulled out the hidden, tightly wound black material.
“What is it?” Genny asked.
The black velvet had been invisible through the holes of her flute, held securely between G# and C.
Genny gasped as Isa unfolded the velvet.
“There are eight diamonds, four emeralds, from rings my father gave me as birthday gifts. The diamonds aren’t the same size, but even the smallest is the best quality our Congo supplies. I thought they would bring more value when trading for services.”
“What services?” Edward asked suspiciously.
“It’s why I came,” she said. “I asked Gourard how I might bring all of you out of Belgium, across the frontier. He told me whom to contact and said these will be enough. I also have gold from the settings, melted down to little nuggets. They’re sewn into my . . .” She paused with a shy glance toward Edward, looking quickly away as she finished. “Underthings. With as much cash as I